The Thin Blue Line
by Jadzibelle
Summary: Post Den of Thieves. "Esposito's fine- but for a few terrible moments, Ryan didn't know that." Ch.12 Up! New tensions arise as the dynamic between them shifts; a brutal killing in a public park complicates matters. Ryan/Esposito, though starting slow.
1. Partners

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made._

**A/N: **_So, this is my first fan-fiction in a very long time, and my first ever attempt at Castle fic. Not 100% sure where this is going, but I definitely have a longer story in mind. We'll see where the plot takes it, I suppose. For now, I hope you enjoy it, and reviews would be wonderfully encouraging. ;)_

***

These late nights were going to be the death of him. Detective Kevin Ryan dropped his empty paper cup into the trash beside his desk, and leaned back in his chair, stretching out the best he could after six hours of filling out reports. His back popped uncomfortably, and he leaned forward again quickly to avoid cramping up, an irritated hiss escaping him.

"Yo, man, you ok?" Esposito asked, glancing up from his own stack of paperwork. He wasn't looking much better than his weary partner, his eyes red and surrounded by tight lines of fatigue.

"Yeah, I'm good. I hate paperwork. I'm gonna take a break, walk down to the corner and grab a coffee. You want anything?"

"A week in Hawaii, a cool million bucks, supermodels to wait on me hand and foot?" Esposito offered, before standing up and grabbing his jacket. "I'll come with you, I could use a chance to stretch my legs."

"Right, I know." Ryan stood up and grabbed his wallet and keys, glancing around to see if he could get a bead on Beckett. He knew she hadn't left yet- Beckett could always be counted on to stay ridiculously late if there was work to be done. Her jacket was on the back of her chair, her bag sitting on the floor beside her desk, but he couldn't spot her. Eh, her loss- and anyway, thanks to Castle's gift, they _could_ make a halfway decent cup of coffee at the precinct, now.

Ryan followed Esposito to the elevator, giving an exhausted sigh of relief when the doors closed, cutting off the sight of the pile of work still to be done.

"I swear those files keep getting bigger," he complained, thinking longingly of the bed he probably wouldn't be seeing for another day. Esposito bumped his shoulder, the easy gesture of camaraderie providing at least a little comfort.

"Hey, could be worse. We could be down in Vice- have you seen their case load lately? I don't think Murray's been home in a week. And seriously, what else do you have to do?"

"Remind my girlfriend I'm alive?" Ryan countered, though really, it wasn't Jenny he was missing at the moment. She was a sweet girl, but she couldn't compare to his own shower in his own bathroom followed by a solid eight hours in his own bed.

"Yeah, right, don't want her thinking you've forgotten about her, do you honeymilk?"

"Man, come on, lay off," Ryan huffed, but his heart wasn't really in it. He didn't mind the ribbing, it was a comfortable habit that meant everything was okay. It was really bad when the good-natured teasing stopped. He'd been more sensitive to the ebb and flow of the friendly banter between them since the whole Issac thing. He'd been forced to stop and take stock, to really consider what his partnership with Esposito meant- and it had scared him a little bit. When he'd seen Holliwell bloodied but standing, with Esposito nowhere to be seen... He'd never been so scared, so angry, before. In the minute it had taken to get to him, in that horrible minute when he'd been sure Esposito had been shot, or worse, it had felt like the bottom had dropped out of his world. He was trying not to think too hard about what that meant, focusing instead on getting his backlog of work cleaned out so that he could justify taking a few days off. He needed a break, needed a chance to take a step back and get himself sorted out.

"Ryan. Earth to Ryan. Hello?"

Ryan blinked, and realized the elevator doors had opened, and Esposito was holding them from the outside, looking at him with exasperation.

"Right. Sorry. I guess I'm more tired than I thought," he lied, exiting the elevator and faking a yawn.

"Uh huh. Try to pay more attention, or I'm gonna hafta hold your hand when you cross the street." Esposito paused, and Ryan blinked again, only belatedly realizing that he was waiting for some sort of indignant response to his teasing.

"Ha ha," he offered weakly, and Esposito frowned.

"Dude, what's up with you tonight?" Ryan tried not to read too much into his partner's concerned tone, shifting uncomfortably.

"Nothing. It's late, I'm tired, I haven't seen Jenny in days. I'm a little zoned, that's all."

"It's not just tonight," Esposito said with a frown, and Ryan cursed silently. That was the one problem with his job- he was surrounded by cops. Smart cops, cops who were good at their jobs. Cops who could tell when someone wasn't telling the whole truth, and who took the time to notice small details others might miss. "You've been acting weird since we took down Holliwell- what's the deal?"

"I'm not allowed to be a little stressed out?" Ryan countered, a flare of annoyance catching him unprepared. It wasn't about Racine, or Holliwell, or I-would've-taken-a-bullet-for-him Ike Thornton. "I'm not allowed to be a little tense and a little tired? I thought-" he cut off sharply, and cursed. He hadn't meant to start down that path, he really hadn't. He sped up down the sidewalk, grateful for the briskness of the night air. It gave him an excuse for the pink flush of his cheeks.

"Hey- hey!" Esposito called after him, his scowl audible in his tone, and the sound of his footfalls quickened as he moved to keep up. "What the hell, man? If you've got something to say to me, say it. Don't pull this shit. I'm your partner, talk to me!"

"Like you were so chatty about what was going on with Thornton?" Ryan snapped, turning to face Esposito, noticing with some spiteful enjoyment that he'd managed to catch him off-guard. "At least when I said I was going out to walk I meant it! I wasn't blowing you off to risk my badge and my neck for someone who might damn well have been playing for the other side!"

"Fuck, man, is that what this is about? He was my _partner_; he needed my help. I thought he was _dead_-"

"_And I thought _you_ were dead!_" The words exploded from him with more force than he'd meant them to; Esposito blinked, falling silent. "Do you not get that? Do you not get that seeing Holliwell marked but walking, armed... I thought he'd killed you. How else could he have gotten away from you, right?" Ryan paused, glad for the lateness of the hour- the street was at least mostly empty. They had at least the illusion that their conversation- argument, whatever- was private. "You walked away from me to help Thornton and I thought it got you killed. Put yourself in my shoes, Esposito." He turned away, shoulders tense, expression closed. "I don't really feel like coffee right now. I'm going to go back to the station and get back to work." He started walking- the silence behind him was enough for him to know Esposito wasn't following. He was halfway back down the block before he heard him call after him.

"Ryan... Kevin, wait," Esposito called, and Ryan paused, reluctantly allowing his partner to catch up to him. "Seriously, bro, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking it through. It... The case, Racine, Ike... It dragged me back, you know? Like it was still three years ago, like I was still out of the 54th and I didn't have anyone left to lean on and I wasn't thinking. I screwed up." Ryan knew Esposito well enough to know his words were genuine- there was no tell-tale wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, no slight crease in his brow that would suggest he was being anything but honest. Which, really, didn't help much.

"Nice to know we're all so forgettable," Ryan replied bitterly. "Seriously, I thought you knew you could count on us- on _me_."

"I do know-"

"Then why didn't you? I was right there, Javi, I _offered_ to help. You turned me down."

"I was taking a stupid chance, Kev, I couldn't let you take that risk. The odds were bad, man. It was my unfinished business; I wasn't gonna let you risk your neck. Or your badge. Not for my ghosts." Esposito shook his head, and Ryan read his intensity, his need for understanding in the set of his shoulders, in the tense line of his jaw. He wasn't sure what to think- he didn't want Esposito trying to protect him like that. If they were partners, they had to be on the level, they had to be on equal footing. Still, he could see where Esposito was coming from, at least. He wasn't sure he would have done differently.

"Next time, I go with you. End of story," Ryan said finally, his expression set.

"Won't be a next time, bro. Not that many skeletons left in my closet, you know?" Esposito gave him a tentative smile, offering it up like an olive branch. "I get it, though. I was out of line. It won't happen again." He paused, caught Ryan's gaze, held it. "Are we cool?"

A little of the tension leaving his shoulders, Ryan managed a faint smile in return.

"Yeah, we're cool. Let's go get that coffee- the reports aren't going to file themselves."


	2. The Case

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: Wow, thanks for the encouragement! Thank you, everyone who reviewed- I really appreciate it. Also, thanks to everyone who added this story to their alerts! This chapter is a bit different from the first; I find Esposito a bit harder to write than Ryan. Also, the story is beginning in earnest now- this is going to be a fairly long work, so it may start out a bit slowly. Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

Esposito was running late. Very late, in point of fact. One might think being a homicide detective would get one a little bit of respect from one's neighbors, but no. Neighbors were a hassle no matter who you were. Cursing his poor luck and the cranky old woman in 5B (and her yappy little dog for good measure), he made his way into the precinct building nearly a half an hour after he was supposed to be there.

"About time, Esposito, I was about to call you," Beckett drawled, scooping up her keys. "We've got a body on East 40th, between Fifth and Avenue of the Americas."

"What, by the library?"

"Yeah, in the park just behind it. A group of schoolkids on a field trip found it. One of the parents called it in. Castle's meeting us there, you're riding with me."

"Ryan already on his way there?" Esposito was gonna give him crap if he'd headed to the scene without at least calling him- he wasn't _that_ late.

"He didn't tell you?" Beckett sounded surprised. "He took a few days, said he was going out of town for the weekend. He's not back until Tuesday."

"Huh." Esposito didn't bother to hide the irritation in his tone- Ryan had told Beckett he was leaving, but not him? He'd thought they'd sorted things out, but apparently Ryan was still upset with him.

Seeming to catch his frustration, Beckett raised an eyebrow.

"I'll lend you Castle if you don't think you can manage five days on your own," she commented, deadpan, and he scowled.

"Ha ha, very funny. You can keep writer boy, I'll manage just fine. He could've said something, that's all, instead of skipping out." Not that Esposito had anything against working with Castle- but that wasn't the issue.

"He said it was kind of last minute, something with his sister? I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. Now come on, you know how much trouble Castle causes when he gets to a scene before we do."

"Man's gotta touch everything," Esposito agreed, following Beckett to the elevator, the hint of a scowl still in place. It irked him that Ryan had left town without a word to him- even if it had come up suddenly, a simple heads up would have been nice. He hoped nothing was seriously wrong, of course- he'd met Erin a few times, and he liked her- but Ryan had better have a good excuse when he came back.

It'd been a while since he'd caught a ride with Beckett, and her crisp run-through of the details was almost odd compared to the jocular exchanges he usually shared with Ryan. Of course, given that they didn't really have any details other than the location, it would have been difficult for the run-through to _not_ be crisp.

They could see the crowd gathered as they drove down West 40th. A cluster of small children was being watched by anxious looking chaperones, and joggers, food vendors, and library patrons were all huddled together amongst the trees of Bryant Park. Just behind them, the elegant, looming profile of the main branch caught the morning sunlight, casting a heavy shadow over the group.

"This looks like the place," Beckett commented, parking the car and flashing her badge at the uniforms who were working to tape off the scene. "Detectives Beckett and Esposito- what have we got?" Esposito kept close behind her, his badge out as well, scanning the faces in the crowd as one of the uniforms led them toward their vic. Most of the spectators looked normal enough- some shocked, some disturbed, some simply delighted by the novelty of the experience. His expression hardened; maybe it didn't feel real to the gawkers in the crowd, but they weren't the ones who would have to deliver the news to a family, or piece together another demonstration of human cruelty. He'd been a cop far too long to have any patience for the sort of people who hovered just hoping to catch a glimpse of someone else's tragedy.

He took silent note as he walked of the few faces that stood out from the crowd; a disheveled old man in a patchwork coat who leaned on a shopping cart full of cans and rags, a young tough with bold tattoos looking on with far too much intensity in his black eyes, a waif-thin woman with dirty blonde hair that fell over her face and nearly obscured the bags under her eyes and her nervous twitch, a pair of pushers watching the uniforms uneasily. Nothing concrete, nothing more than instincts honed by experience, but he made sure the crime scene guy snapping pictures of the crowd caught his choices.

Esposito nodded a quick greeting to Lanie, who looked more disapproving than usual as she took over from the officer leading them. She barely responded as she brought them around the trunk of one large tree. The body came into sight, and he heard Beckett draw in a sharp breath. A moment later, he did the same.

Startlingly blue eyes looked out of the battered face, eyes that seemed to cut right through the defenses he'd built up over the years. Eyes that were precisely the same shade of blue as his partner's. His hand went to his phone of its own volition, and he had to stop himself from calling Ryan right then and there, just to make sure he was okay. Startled as he was, he almost missed the start of Lanie's rundown.

"Our boy here's not more than sixteen," Lanie was saying, her grip on her clipboard tight and unforgiving. "White male, approximately five six, and I'd guess probably about a hundred and ten pounds."

"Right- if he was soaking wet." The comment announced Castle's arrival on the scene, tray of coffees in one hand, bag of pastries in the other. The writer looked cheerful as always, though it didn't take long for the furrow to form between his brows that said his amusement had been replaced with concern as he swept his eyes over the victim. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing yet, Castle, you're right on time," Beckett answered, taking one of the cups of coffee (far left front, where her coffee always was) when he offered her the tray. Esposito followed suit, giving Castle a nod of gratitude as he took the moment to resettle himself. He wasn't usually spooked by anything, but those eyes had rocked him to the core. It took him a few sips of hot coffee- and how did Castle always manage to keep straight everyone's favorite blends and flavorings _and_ get them to a scene still piping hot?- before he was sure he was able to focus again.

"Where's Detective Ryan?" Castle asked, looking momentarily perplexed when he realized he still had two coffees in hand instead of just one. Esposito was momentarily mollified- at least Castle hadn't known Ryan was leaving for the weekend either.

"He bailed on us, man, took the rest of the week off," Esposito answered, managing to sound less annoyed about it than he actually was.

"Huh." Castle considered that for a moment, before putting on a boyish smile. "Lanie, would you like some coffee?"

"Thanks, I could use some," she replied, accepting the hot beverage in one blue-gloved hand. She took a sip, and made a slight face. "Ryan likes it sweet, huh?"

"He puts more sugar in his coffee than anyone else I know," Castle confirmed. "Any idea who our victim is?" There was a note of concern in his tone, and Esposito turned his attention back to the kid, deliberately avoiding the staring blue eyes. He told himself he was only unsettled because the kid was just that- it was always hard when the vic was young.

"Not yet. No wallet, at least not that we've found." Lanie shook her head, a frustrated sigh escaping her. "Cause of death looks to be asphyxiation," she added, motioning to the rope digging into the kid's throat. "He took a pretty heavy beating before he was strung up, too. The bruising all looks to be pre-mortem. Whoever worked him over wasn't playing games." That much was obvious; blood had soaked into the kid's short blond hair, plastering it down against his skull, and it stained his faded green hoodie. "It's worth noting that his jeans are Rock and Republic, and his sneakers are Diesel."

"And what does that mean, exactly?" Esposito asked, not quite understanding the point.

"Rock and Republic jeans retail at more than two hundred dollars," Castle answered, frowning slightly. "And the shoes are probably another hundred, maybe more. He had money to spend on designer brands."

"What about time of death?" Beckett was all business, her attention focused in a way that suggested to Esposito that she was taking this one personally.

"Based on lividity and temperature, I'd say he was killed between nine and midnight last night. I'll have a more solid idea once I get him back to the morgue. Found this in one of his pockets-" she handed Beckett an evidence bag with a multicolored ribbon inside, the letters 'IWP' stamped boldly in black, "-not sure what to make of it."

"Thanks, Lanie. Let me know if you find anything else," Beckett replied, considering the ribbon for a moment before handing it off to one of the crime scene guys. "I'm going to go talk to the kids who found the body... Esposito, take a couple uniforms and start canvassing, see if any of the security cameras across the street caught anything suspicious."

"You got it, boss," he replied, moving to get the attention of two of the officers on scene. Beckett headed toward the group of children, Castle in tow, as Esposito headed across the road. There was a bank on one corner, they would have a camera even if none of the other buildings did. It was a slog, checking with each building, finding out if they had cameras, or night security, talking to anyone who might have been around between nine and midnight... Normally he didn't mind, but he wasn't exactly looking forward to it without Ryan's help- and company.

There was nothing for it, though; the work had to get done. Resigning himself to a tedious morning, he headed to the bank. With any luck, the camera on their ATM had caught a glimpse of their killer.


	3. Insecurities

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: Again, thank you so much for the reviews and the alerts, they are really encouraging!

* * *

What Ryan liked most about visiting his sister was the quiet. Sure. it was always great to see Erin, she always had some new story or hobby or fling to tell him about, but she was perfectly comfortable letting him choose the time, as it were. He could spend half the morning just staring out at the water from her porch, and she would leave him to it.

He liked Milford- it was quiet, a little touristy, but nothing like he was used to. Kids played on the beach, and for the most part the only admonition being thrown around was about roughhousing too close to the water. It was easy to pretend, for a little while, that the world was a safe, simple, friendly place. It was nice, to pretend. To attempt, for an hour or two, to imagine that he didn't see a body a week, that he didn't know first-hand how cruel people could be to each other for stupid, petty reasons.

Imagine though he might, he was still a cop. He'd still signed up to see the worst of human interaction, day in, day out, and even in Milford he couldn't let go of that knowledge completely. Which was why, after observing a scrawny older man with a camera arrive at the beach, no child in tow, and start to take pictures, he reached for his gun (sitting in easy reach on the table beside him next to the remains of his breakfast) and checked to make sure he had his badge.

"Easy, big-city," Erin commented, putting a hand on his shoulder to push him back into his seat. "I think you're a bit out of your jurisdiction. That's Jack Perkins, the twins on the play fort are his grandkids. He comes down every school break to visit. He always arrives at the beach about this time, takes some pictures for his album, and then takes Margo and Rachel to the candy store."

Sure enough, the little dark-haired girls let out synchronized shrieks of delight and scrambled off of the play structure, nearly knocking the old man off of his feet with the force of their enthusiasm. Ryan settled back down, setting his gun back on the table and looking a little sheepish.

"You need to take breaks more often, Kev. You're wound way too tight. When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Erin frowned at him, and he couldn't help but smile slightly in response. It was hard not to, when she was trying to look serious and her nose was peeling from her near eternal sunburn.

"I'm okay, Erin. Really. Just gotta be more careful back home, you know?" He tried to reassure her, but she didn't seem convinced.

"If you were okay, you wouldn't be here," Erin pointed out, and Ryan suppressed a sigh. Trust his sister to see right through his excuses about just wanting a nice family visit. She was just as good at picking up things he didn't want her to notice as Esposito was.

"I just needed a few days to figure something out, that's all," he replied, shrugging. Erin continued to watch him, quiet and intense, waiting. They both knew that the reason he'd driven out to Connecticut to see her rather than making the much shorter trip to their parents' home in Yonkers was because he needed to talk his issue out, but Ryan wasn't sure yet what, exactly, his issue was. "It's complicated," he added, and she nodded.

"If it wasn't, you'd have gone to Javier rather than driving out here." She must have noticed his shoulders go tense again, because she frowned sharply. "Or it's about Javier... Did you two have a fight?"

"Not exactly... But it's kinda about him." Ryan related what had happened, from the moment Castle had mentioned Fred Cana to the almost-fight two nights ago. Erin listened, quiet and focused, idly drumming her fingers on her knee as he worked his way through the story. When he'd finished, he shifted restlessly, not quite willing to meet her eyes.

"So what's really bothering you about this? That he didn't trust you enough to include you, even after all the time the two of you spend together, or the mortality reminder?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know. I've never felt more helpless, Rinnie. I've never been that scared. Seriously." Ryan took a breath, and looked up, his gaze conveying a vulnerability that he usually didn't allow. "I've been thinking about it. A lot. It's driving me crazy."

"...Oh," she said, a glimmer of realization entering her eyes, and Ryan looked down again. "So, it's not so much about the mortality reminder as the reminder that _Javier_ is mortal?"

"Maybe. I dunno. It's not exactly something I can talk to him about, either- how's that going to come off? 'Hey, buddy, just so you know the idea of losing you scares me so bad I can't sleep'? Right. Because _that_ wouldn't screw things up beyond recognition."

"Maybe he'd take it in the spirit it was intended," Erin suggested gently, and Ryan shrugged. The problem- _there _it was, the _real _problem- was that he didn't exactly _know _in what spirit it was intended.

He kinda wished he hadn't figured that out.

Apparently taking his lack of a response as a sign that the conversation was over for the moment, Erin stood up from her chair. "Since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful. Walk with me- I need to collect some shells. Did you see the sweet little votive holder in the bathroom? I've started making them, and the girls in my book club just _love_ them. I'm thinking about asking Janet down at the souvenir shop if she's interested in carrying them, but I need a few more examples, and I'm out of materials."

Grateful for the reprieve, Ryan stood up, entirely willing to hear about his sister's newest project. He _had_ noticed the votive holder, and it was nice- he'd have to ask for one to bring home for Jenny.


	4. The Victim

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: Again, thank you for all the fabulous reviews! I appreciate them, and all the encouragement. Sorry about the long delay... This chapter was fighting me tooth and nail, and I'm not really super thrilled with how it turned out, but at least it's something. On the plus side, though, three updates all in a row!

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None of the cameras had caught anything. One night guard thought he'd seen the victim walk by at around eight thirty, and mentioned that he'd had a backpack on at the time- Esposito had sent one of the uniforms to see if anyone had found a backpack near the scene. No one had seen anything suspicious, no one had heard a commotion. Total bust.

Heading back to the station, Esposito sincerely hoped Beckett and Castle were having better luck than he was. Sitting down at his desk to grab a quick lunch, he waited for Beckett to check in- if he didn't hear in by the time he'd finished lunch, he'd start going through the evidence collected at the scene. His phone rang just as he was crumpling up the paper his sandwich had been wrapped in.

"Esposito," he answered brusquely.

"Castle and I are headed back to the station now," Beckett said without preamble. "Good tip on the backpack- one of our guys found it beside the library steps. There was blood on the stone nearby. Looks like it was probably where the attack started. We found a school I.D. in one pocket- our victim is Sean Matthews, he was a senior at Irving Waide Preperatory."

"IWP," Esposito said, making the connection. "The ribbon was from his school."

"Looks that way," Beckett agreed. "Castle and I are following up on a lead- I need you to head down there, see if you can get a number for his parents, talk to the administrators. I want to know why no one's reported him missing yet."

"On my way," he replied, snapping his phone shut. It was the work of a few minutes to figure out where, exactly, the school was, and he headed out as soon as he had the address.

The grounds were nice, a carefully manicured patch of green surrounded by high white walls. The buildings seemed designed to mimic the Greco-roman style without being obvious about it, sporting white stone facades and sculpted fronts that hinted at columns. A uniformed security guard directed him to the administration building at the center of the campus. The principal, a slender, balding man by the name of Marcus Brixby, looked honestly devastated when Esposito broke the news.

"I should have known... He's never absent without a good reason, I should have known when he didn't call in," Brixby said, leaning back heavily in his chair. "It's just terrible; who would have done something like this? He's a good kid, he really is."

"When he didn't call in? Do your students usually have the option of excusing themselves from classes?" Esposito asked, a hint of disapproval in his tone.

"No, no, of course not," Brixby replied, waving a hand as though to dismiss the very notion. "Sean's a special case. We had to do something, after all, after his parents... well. You have to understand, Sean's one of our best students. He's- he _was_- going to graduate this year, and he only just turned sixteen three months ago." Brixby paused, and Esposito waited, watching the shadows of grief flicker over the man's narrow face. Unusual, that- most principals, in his experience, would be upset, but not on a personal level. "He was waiting to hear back from Harvard about his admission... And about the scholarships he'd applied for. Wanted to be a lawyer." Another pause, followed by a weak smile. "We were all very proud of him, very lucky to have him here. I worked with him to find him volunteer positions with the DA's office, and with a few of the bigger law firms. Pierce and Rowlins made a point of telling him to come back as soon as he'd passed the bar, they'd find a place for him. He inspired that sort of confidence in people; we all believed he'd go far."

"It sounds like he was quite the student."

"He was. But he wasn't just a good student, you know. He was very compassionate, he made a point of treating everyone he met like they mattered to him. His peers are going to be devastated."

"What about his parents? I'll need their information from you... They haven't reported him missing. Any idea why that would be?" Esposito didn't miss the spark of anger that crossed Brixby's face, and he raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"Well, I'll get you their information, but it won't do you much good to talk to them. He wasn't living with them, hadn't been for the last two months or so. That's why we made allowances for him, why he was the one to call in if he was sick."

"What do you mean?" he asked with a frown, somewhat surprised. So far, nothing that Brixby had said suggested that Sean was the sort to run away, and he was certainly too young to be living on his own.

"His father threw him out," Brixby answered, lips forming a tight line. "Some people, Detective, are just unbelievable. Do you know, Sean came into my office practically in tears- and he wasn't the sort to break down, let me tell you- and told me his parents weren't going to pay for the rest of the school year, that he needed my help to transfer into one of the public schools... I asked him why, of course- bright future like that, I wanted to make sure he had the tools he needed to go where he wanted to- and the whole story came pouring out. His father had found out about his boyfriend, and thrown him out of the house, he didn't have anywhere to go and he couldn't afford the tuition on his own, he didn't know what he was going to do. He was a mess, it was heartbreaking. Absolutely heartbreaking."

"I see," Esposito replied, jotting down notes as quickly as he could, his own expression closed. For the moment, he had no reason to doubt what Brixby was telling him, and he rather agreed with Brixby's assessment. He wished he found it harder to imagine that the parents of a smart kid with a bright future would throw him out because of something so stupid- but unfortunately, he'd seen people make worse calls. Some people really were just unbelievable. "If he couldn't afford tuition, then how was he still enrolled?"

"Detective, please. I wasn't going to let him get lost in the public school system, not when his family had already turned their backs on him." Brixby looked honestly offended by the thought, and Esposito decided that he kinda liked the guy. Wasn't often he encountered a school official who was genuinely interested in their kids. "I told him we'd put him on a scholarship for the rest of the year. He protested, didn't want to be 'a drain on school resources'. I told him he could pay for it by working in the office for a few hours each week."

"Where was he staying, if he wasn't at home?"

"He was staying with his boyfriend, Tory. I've got his address here, as well; I'll give you his information before you leave."

"And... things seemed stable, between Sean and Tory?" Esposito asked delicately.

"I was honestly surprised by how supportive Tory was," Brixby answered, before frowning sharply. "You don't think he had something to do with this, do you? I don't believe it... No, he was involved, supportive. I think he's the only reason Sean didn't completely break down."

"Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to hurt Sean? Any enemies, classmates he didn't get along with?"

"Other than his family, no. I can't think of anyone. The student body was very supportive when they found out what was going on- like I said, they'll be devastated. He was well-liked, and our kids are good kids. They went out of their way to make sure he felt supported by everyone. Irene, the student body president, even organized a week-long GSA event." Brixby reached into his desk drawer, and took out a multicolor ribbon, just like the one they'd found on Sean. "He was quiet about it, but I know it meant a lot to him, that everyone was on his side like that."

"Thank you, Mr. Brixby, you've been very helpful." Esposito closed his notebook, and stood up. Brixby stood up as well, and motioned to the door.

"I'll have Mrs. Hunter pull the information you need. I don't know how I'm going to break this to the rest of the kids..." He paused, and shook his head. "He deserved better."

"He did." Esposito gave Brixby a look, intense and sincere. "We're going to find the individual responsible for this."

"Thank you, Detective. I hope you do." Brixby retreated back into his office as the secretary pulled up the information on Tory and Jason and Patty Matthews. She sniffled as she handed the printouts over to him; apparently Brixby wasn't the only one in the office who cared. Walking out to his car, he heard the P.A. system sound, calling the students to an assembly.

As he drove away, he wondered how Bribxy was going to break the news.


	5. Family Meals

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

* * *

Late afternoon sunlight poured through the arched windows overlooking the kitchen garden, and Ryan leaned back in his chair, watching as Erin cut up vegetables for dinner. She was humming quietly as she moved through the kitchen, her hair pulled up in a messy pony-tail and a streak of flour on one cheek. It was cozy, the scent of rising bread and rosemary competing with the salty flavor of the air, the sun warming his shoulders, the anticipation of a real meal instead of something brought home in a Styrofoam box.

"Hey, Erin... You heard from Lizzy lately?" he asked, and Erin glanced over her shoulder, pausing her salad preparations.

"She sent me a birthday card, but otherwise no, not really. Not since last Christmas. You know how she is; Miss Independence. She wouldn't even call on Christmas if she thought she could get away without Mom flying out to California to find out what happened to her. Why?"

"Just wondering," he replied, picking at the edge of the linen place-mat in front of him.

"You don't 'just wonder' about Lizzy. She drives you nuts, and you're not exactly her favorite person either."

"I know, I know. I just... I dunno. I was thinking, is all. When was the last time we had a family meal with everyone?"

"Okay, what's really bugging you? You come down out of the blue, are fighting with Javier, didn't raise even the slightest bit of fuss about being drafted into collecting seashells, and now you're wondering about family meals?" Erin gave him a stern look, hands on her hips, and he sighed. He hadn't thought the question was _that_ out of the ordinary. "He must have really rocked your confidence, if you're getting all nostalgic for days gone by."

"That's not-"

"Yes it is," Erin interrupted. "You may not see it, but I can. That's why you're here. It doesn't usually bother you that we don't see Lizzy, that Mom and Dad have started traveling, that we don't hang out as often as we used to- because you have Javier, you have Kate, you have Mr. Castle. You spent Thanksgiving last year at Javier's apartment, for Chrissakes. So now you're unsettled, you feel like your other family let you down, and so here you are, talking about meals and Lizzy and looking like a kicked puppy."

"I am not looking like a kicked puppy," Ryan protested, entirely ruffled. Maybe Erin had a point- _maybe_- about the confidence thing, but he was definitely not looking like a kicked puppy.

"Fine, you don't look like a puppy. But I'm still right. Now set the table, dinner will be ready in a minute and I don't want the chowder to burn." Erin turned back to the stovetop, and Ryan heaved a sigh and got to his feet, poking through the pastel-blue painted cabinets for something resembling matching dishes. When he'd come up with a pair of chipped-but-sound green salad bowls, a pair of plates that were the same size but different colors, and a pair of soup bowls that were the same color but different sizes, he placed them out on the table. He gave Erin a look that she pretended not to see by dropping the chopped vegetables into the lettuce, and began searching for silverware.

"Napkins are in the second drawer under the microwave," Erin pointed out, her back still turned as she stirred the chowder and added a dollop of Tabasco sauce. Ryan pulled a pair of slightly ragged linen napkins from the appropriate drawer, and took out a pair of clear-blue plastic tumblers- which seemed to be the only glassware represented by more than one example.

"Iced tea or lemonade?" he asked, moving to the fridge to grab drinks.

"Iced tea... With lemon," Erin replied, pulling a tray of golden-brown buns from the oven and dropping them one-by-one into a woven basket lined with another ratty napkin- accompanied by much hissing and waving of fingers as she handled the hot breads. Ryan rolled his eyes and put her drink together, refraining from pointing out that if she'd used a spatula or tongs she wouldn't have burned her fingers. Experience had taught him that correcting Erin in the kitchen was a good way to end up with garden pests in his meal- though he hoped she'd outgrown that phase.

He poured himself a beer as Erin moved the food to the table, and gave her a soft smile when she blew a bit of hair out of her face and announced the meal to be ready.

"It looks fantastic, Rinnie. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now sit down and eat before it gets cold." She seated herself, and Ryan followed suit, serving them both with aplomb. The food tasted as good as it looked, and they were quiet for a few minutes as they ate. Eventually, Erin started quizzing him on the latest gossip, demanding to know what was really up with Beckett and Castle- "I get the paper, you know, I _saw_ that article!"- asking about Lanie, commiserating with him on the disparity between the tools the FBI had and what they had at the precinct. By the time they were putting the leftovers away, Ryan was feeling much more relaxed, the pleasant spell of a good meal and easy conversation working its magic on him.

"So, we got a good collection of shells- you think I can take one of those votive holders with me when I head home?" he asked, carrying the dirty dishes to the sink.

"From what I remember about your apartment, it's not going to match, but sure, if you really want one," Erin replied, throwing him a slightly quizzical smile.

"Nah, it's not for my place- I think Jenny'd like one," he answered, and her expression became still more puzzled.

"Jenny? Who's Jenny?"

"Jenny, my girlfriend? I told you about her last time we talked." Well, he thought he'd mentioned her... Of course he'd mentioned her. Why wouldn't he have? He talked to Erin, kept her up to date on just about everything going on in his life- he would have remembered to tell her about Jenny.

"No, you didn't," Erin countered, and she looked pensive for a moment. "How long have you two been going out?"

"Maybe six months? You sure I didn't mention her? I was sure I'd said something..." Surely she'd come up in conversation at least once. Ryan hadn't exactly been shy about mentioning her around the station- why would he have forgotten to mention her to Erin?

"You two have been dating six months, and you didn't think to tell me before now?" Erin seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he was, and he didn't like the look she was getting. "How serious is it?"

"I don't know, pretty serious? She stays over some nights, if I'm not working too late... We've thrown the idea of moving in together around once or twice." Yeah, he definitely didn't like Erin's expression, the crease of her forehead and thin line of her lips suggesting she was disapproving, or worried.

"Hmm," she said, and he felt his shoulders tense up. What the hell was 'hmm' supposed to mean, really?

"Hmm?" he inquired, after a long moment.

"Oh... Nothing. I'm just surprised." Erin gave him a faint half-smile, the worried creases not going away. "That does sound pretty serious. What do your friends think of her?"

Ryan was pretty sure it was not a good sign when his sister didn't ask him what Jenny was like, but what his friends thought. "They like her alright? Well, aside from her taste in gifts, anyway..." Of course, the tie she'd gotten him _had_ been pretty appalling, but it was the thought that counted. "Javier grumbles a bit, but he always grumbles if I miss Madden night. Castle likes her, and Beckett said she was nice."

"Kate said she was nice?" Erin asked, biting her lip.

"Yes... What? Oh, come on, don't tell me nice doesn't actually mean nice," Ryan said imploringly, not in the mood to find out that he'd missed something in the delivery.

"No, I'm sure Kate meant she was nice. Kate usually says exactly what she means." Erin looked distant, and Ryan wasn't sure whether to be reassured or worried by the comment about Beckett saying exactly what she meant. "I'd be happy to put together a votive holder for you," Erin said, her attention snapping back into place, her smile growing a bit more normal. There was still a trace of worry on her features, but she was already moving on. "Come on, let's get these dishes clean- I want to make it down to the pier before it gets much later. Tom Sile's band has been setting up in the evenings, it's a real treat."

Ryan obediently moved to get the dishes started, but he couldn't manage to shake the uneasy feeling Erin's questions had stirred.


	6. The Boyfriend

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: Probably the last update for today. Hope that you all enjoy!

* * *

When Esposito got back to the station, he found Beckett and Castle in one of the interrogation rooms, struggling to get any sort of response from the individual they were questioning. Esposito felt a shock of recognition- the tattooed tough had been at the crime scene that morning. It didn't seem like Beckett was getting anywhere, and it was obviously frustrating her- no matter what she asked, the kid refused to answer. The intensity Esposito had noticed about him earlier was gone, replaced by a dull sort of disinterest.

After a few more minutes, Beckett apparently grew tired of talking to a wall, and stalked out of the room, Castle close on her heels. Esposito greeted her with a short nod, then glanced at the door she'd just exited. "What've we got?"

"Lanie pulled a print off of the victim's belt, and we got a name and an address. Víctor Torres, he had a few priors for drugs, nothing big. Nothing recent. When we showed up, he tried to bolt- we found the vic's wallet inside his apartment, and he's been in a fight recently- he has abrasions on the knuckles of both hands. He won't say anything, though- hasn't answered why he tried to run, won't tell us anything about how he came to be in possession of Mr. Matthews's wallet. Hasn't even asked for a lawyer." Beckett rubbed her temple, radiating frustration. Esposito didn't blame her- she wasn't used to being stonewalled by suspects.

"He was at the crime scene this morning," Esposito pointed out, and Beckett shot a glare at the closed door. "I got the info on the vic's parents, but according to the principal, he wasn't living at home. Apparently, his parents threw him out when they found out about his boyfriend- cut off his tuition and everything."

"What, really?" Castle interjected, and Esposito shrugged.

"Some people, man. I got the boyfriend's address, as well- he'd been staying with him since leaving his parents' place."

"Good," Beckett said, letting out a sigh. "We'll let Mr. Torres stew for a bit, and go talk to Mr. Matthews's parents before we try to track down his boyfriend."

"Some parents," Castle retorted, a scowl on his usually jovial features. "Who would throw their child out over something like that?"

"People who value their fears more than they value their children," Beckett replied, putting her hand on Castle's arm. Esposito wondered if she'd even noticed the gesture, but he didn't comment- no need to aggravate Beckett when she was already on edge. "C'mon, Castle- poor decisions or not, we still need to tell them."

"Right," Castle agreed, his tone promising trouble, and Esposito almost suggested that he sit this one out. It might be easier for everyone if he did- he was too much the loving father to handle the case with any sort of objectivity. Beckett, clearly anticipating his suggestion, simply caught his eye and shook her head slightly. If she thought she could keep Castle on a leash, that was her call- Esposito simply nodded, and glanced toward the interrogation room.

"I'm gonna see if I can't get something out of him," he said, and Beckett gestured to the room airily.

"Be my guest," she said, guiding Castle toward the elevator. "Call me if you get anything useful."

"You got it," Esposito agreed, watching as the kid in the interrogation room slumped in his chair, fingers moving in meaningless patterns across the tabletop. Something about him was nagging at Esposito, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

Letting himself into the room, he sat down across from their suspect, looking him over silently. Black eyes flickered over him once before returning to a serious investigation of the grain pattern of the fake-wood tabletop. Esposito waited, silent. The minutes dragged on, the kid's eyes returning to him once, then again, anxiety starting to show through his mask of apathy.

"So, why'd you run?" Esposito asked finally, and the dark eyes closed briefly. "More to the point," he continued, after another minute or two of silence, "why'd you have Mr. Matthews's wallet?"

"Don't call him that," the kid- and he was young, nineteen at the outside- snapped, before glancing up, alarm written all over his face. Obviously, he hadn't intended to speak.

"Don't call him what? Mr. Matthews? Why not?" Esposito let the ensuing silence hang for a moment, before continuing. "C'mon, man, I know you can talk, so let's hear it."

"He hated when people called him that. Made him think of his father." His tone was harsh, his lips twisting into a bitter sneer on the last word.

The nagging feeling tugged again, and Esposito raised an eyebrow. " Víctor Torres... Tory?" he asked, and the kid looked stricken. Closing his eyes and counting down from five, Esposito forced himself not to sigh. "Why didn't you tell Detective Beckett that you were Sean's boyfriend?"

"Not her business," Víctor replied, and Esposito counted down from ten.

"It is her business. She's a homicide detective, and she's trying to figure out who killed Sean Matthews. That makes everything about him- including the people he was close to- her business."

"Don't matter," Víctor said with a shrug, and Esposito leaned forward in his chair.

"From what Principal Brixby told me, you and Sean were tight. He seemed to think you cared about Sean- so I'm not getting why it doesn't matter."

"I _do_," Víctor snapped, tensing up, looking for a moment as intense as he had earlier, in the park. "You don't know-" he paused, and the energy faded as quickly as it had come. "Fuck you, man. You don't know _shit_."

"What don't I know?" Esposito challenged, glad that the kid was at least talking, even if he wasn't saying anything particularly useful.

"You a detective?" Víctor asked, and Esposito nodded.

"Detective Javier Esposito," he elaborated. "So what don't I know?"

"You ever been in love, Detective?"

The question took Esposito off-guard, and he shrugged. "Once or twice."

"No." Víctor shook his head, his lips twisting into a sneer once more. "No. You ever been in _love_? _Really_ in love? 'Need you wit' me, can't live wit'out you, want to spend the rest of my life wit' you' in love?"

_Blue eyes, eyes that seemed to cut right through the defenses he'd built up over the years. His hand going to his phone all on its own, wanting to call Ryan just to make sure he was okay. _ Esposito blinked, shaking himself free of the sudden thought, and shook his head. "Nah, guess I haven't."

Víctor, watching him, nodded. "No, but you know the feeling, huh." Esposito would have made an effort to deny it, but Víctor continued. "That was us. Me'n him. I would'a done anything for him. Anything."

"Then tell me why it doesn't matter to you what we're doing here."

"Because. You can't find 'em, and even if you could, it wouldn't do no damn good." Víctor leaned back in his chair, the apathy back in place, a bleakness so thick and sticky Esposito wanted to back away to avoid it. He didn't, focusing on Víctor's words, instead.

"Find 'them'?"

"The guys who did it." Víctor looked up at Esposito, dark eyes blank. "The guys who killed him."

"You know who killed him, don't you?"

"Not exactly, but I got a good idea." The smile Víctor offered was flat, almost spiteful.

"Then tell me, and we'll go find 'em."

"No."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it don't matter. You won't find 'em."

"What makes you so sure?" The calm way Víctor asserted that they would fail was seriously bugging Esposito. If it was him... Well, he could only theorize, but if it was him, he'd be trying to set everyone short of God on whomever had hurt... the person he cared about.

"D'you know how I met Sean?" Víctor asked, and Esposito was once again caught off-guard by the apparent change of topic.

"No. Tell me."

"He got me off the hook for a drug charge. He was volunteering for the public defender's office. He wanted to be a lawyer, you know? Was gonna go to Harvard, wanted to pass the bar by the time he was twenty. He had goals..." Víctor paused, then blinked, focusing back on what he was saying. "He saw something the lawyer missed, got the charges dropped. Thing was... They weren't my drugs. Said they were, would'a taken the heat for it. Same way some other punk kids'll say they did Sean in, if you or the lady detective manage to get close." Víctor shrugged, resuming his idle tracing of the pattern on the tabletop.

"Whose drugs were they?" Esposito asked, and Víctor looked up briefly. They both knew what he was really asking, that he wasn't interested in a drug case from who knew when.

"El Tirano Rojo," Víctor replied, and Esposito sat back in his chair. The Red Tyrant. Leader and namesake of one of the more vicious new gangs carving out territory for themselves of late. Vice had been on them for almost a year, and wasn't making much progress. "So you see, it don't matter what I tell you. Won't make no damn difference."

Loathe though he was to admit it, Esposito wasn't really sure he disagreed.


	7. Yearnings

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: Whoo. So, this chapter contains some brief hints of light smut- if it bothers you, skip down past the italics at the beginning. ;) Also, thanks once again to everyone who has reviewed- you totally brighten my day. =D

* * *

_Strong hands, warm and broad, caressed his skin, callused palms and smooth fingertips leaving trails of heat across his shoulders. Hard muscles under his own fingertips tensed and relaxed as he stroked them, as he sought new and different planes and valleys to savor. Desire moved through him in slow waves, eddying around each point of contact, sweet and heavy like molasses._

_A low voice, so familiar and comfortable it was almost painful, whispered in his ear, striking in its unabashed strength and assurance. It sent shivers through him- he arched off of the bed to press closer to the tempting heat, tilted his head to the side to better catch the subtle words. Weight that was more presence than mass held him down, and he could feel the rumble of laughter through his skin._

_Spice and musk and the bitter-earth scent of sex teased his nose; he made a low sound of want as he panted and gasped. His lips found inviting flesh, and he kissed and nipped, the salt sweet of clean skin and exertion rolling over his tongue. It drew another sound from him, and he drew his mouth over the tempting expanse of skin- another rumbling laugh met his efforts, and then he was being kissed, kissed like he couldn't describe, like he couldn't compare._

"_Please," he begged, when the kiss ended, and those perfect hands moved down, seeking new places to touch, new places to tease. Hard heat pressed against him, testing, preparing-_

Ryan woke with a gasp, tangled uncomfortably in his sheets, sweat coating his skin and need leaving him aching. He blinked, dazed, and sat up, momentarily unsure of where he was or what was going on. By the time he'd puzzled out his location- guest bedroom, second floor, Erin's place- and his situation- far too warm, painfully aroused, and God he hoped he hadn't been making noise- the dream was already slipping away, little more than fractured sensation and the faint lingering scent of spice teasing his nose to keep him on edge.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying vainly to recapture whatever had put him in such a state, but the more he clutched at the fragments, the faster they slipped from his grasp. Giving up with a low groan of frustration, he glanced at the bedside table. The digital clock proclaimed it to be just after five in the morning- early, but not so early he couldn't justify getting up and taking a shower. A _cold_ shower. A _very_ cold shower.

After he'd managed to detangle himself from the sheets, which was way more difficult than it should have been, he flipped on the little bedside light and moved quietly to 'his' bathroom. His toiletries bag- which practically lived in his locker at the precinct for late nights- was perched on the narrow edge of the sink basin, and he pulled out the travel-sized container of shampoo and dug around for the bar of soap. The bag and everything in it still smelled faintly of Esposito's cologne from the time he'd dropped the bottle and splashed everything in a five foot radius- and Ryan had _definitely_ given Esposito crap about keeping cologne in his locker, seriously- and something about the slightly spicy scent was distracting. He dismissed the thought as simply identifying the scent with 'home'; after three years of being around it all the time, it was hardly surprising that it was comfortable, and who didn't want a little bit of familiarity at five in the morning?

Pulling the shower curtain closed, Ryan turned on the cold water, and cringed as the pipes groaned and whistled in protest. He'd forgotten how loud the plumbing could be- Erin was going to give him hell for that later. They quieted after a moment, however, and he stepped under the spray, the sting of the cold water shocking him fully awake. He focused on the chill, on the lines of almost too-cold water rolling down his skin, letting it chase away the lingering effects of the dream. When he was more or less sorted out, he quickly washed his hair and cleaned off, and he was glad enough to cut the chilly water and wrap up in a towel.

He heard the pipes scream again as he was drying off, and he hastened to get dressed- if he didn't have coffee ready and waiting in the kitchen when Erin got out of the shower, there'd be no salvaging the morning. Fortunately for him, she took long showers- he'd gotten the coffee ready and was part way through preparing a halfway decent breakfast by the time she plodded down the stairs, wet hair tied up in a knot on the top of her head and fuzzy purple robe wrapped tight and tied in the back.

"Kev, sweetie," she started, pausing to take a sip of the coffee he immediately pressed into her hands, "you are on _vacation_. Do you know what that means?" She gave him a bleary glare, and he waited, knowing she wasn't actually expecting him to answer. "It means you _stop_ operating on a city cop's hours and _sleep in_. There is absolutely no godly reason to be awake at this hour, you know."

"Sorry," he said, genuinely apologetic, and he held out a piece of toast spread with apricot jam. "Here, have some toast while you wait for the eggs... I didn't mean to wake you. I forgot about the damn pipes. You should get those looked at, by the way. I have trouble sleeping in... Habit, you know? Crime never sleeps."

"I will never understand why you chose to become a cop," Erin grumbled, but she sat down and started in on the toast, so Ryan figured he was mostly forgiven for the earliness of the hour. "So now that we're up, what are your plans for the day?"

"I honestly don't know," he replied, flipping the eggs over and sprinkling them with a touch of salt and pepper. "Any suggestions?"

He couldn't bring himself to regret asking, even as the slightly wicked smile touched her features.

* * *

By the time late afternoon rolled around, he was much more able to regret his impulsive decision to let Erin plan his day. He'd ruined not one, but _two_ pairs of pants, and his knees and palms were covered in small cuts. He was never going clamming on a rocky beach again, ever. And he was _definitely_ not doing so without investing in something resembling the right clothes. That Erin had laughed herself into a serious case of the hiccups when he'd fallen over for the third time was small consolation- she was still giggling like a fifteen year old every time she glanced in his direction.

Feeling- justifiably, in his opinion- a tad bit sullen, he hiked back up the beach with as much dignity as he could manage. At least he hadn't come out of it empty handed; he had his bag of hard-won clams slung over one shoulder. He had ended up completely soaked, so the muddy water dripping down his back from the bag hardly made a difference. Erin was walking slightly ahead of him, carrying her own bag of clams as well as both clam rakes- she sniggered when she glanced back to make sure he hadn't gotten lost, and he made a face at her.

The ill-conceived venture had done one thing, at least- he'd been too worried about not hitting his head on a rock and drowning to worry about work, or anything work related. He was feeling more like his old self- a wet, muddy, bruised version, sure, but his old self nonetheless- than he had in a long time. In fact... He grinned, and leaned down to scoop up a handful of wet sand. Aiming carefully, he let it fly- and let out a whoop when it caught Erin square in the back of the head.

She let out a shriek of indignation, dropping rakes and clams to immediately gather her own sand ball, and the fight was on. By the time they were done, they were both breathless with laughter and so covered in sand they could practically blend in with the beach.

"I've got sand in places I didn't think it was possible to get sand into," Ryan commented, when he'd gathered enough air to speak.

"I don't want to know," Erin replied, sitting up and shaking her head sharply, sending pellets of sand off in all directions.

"Seriously, I think I got sand in-"

"Don't want to know!" She cut him off, before throwing him a devilish smile. "So. Feeling better?"

"Much. Still hate clamming, but I needed this. Thanks, Rinnie." He meant it- he'd desperately needed a few days to just loosen up.

"That's what I'm here for," she replied, standing up and looking at her sand-sodden clothes with mock-despair. "I am never going to get these clean."

"At least they aren't in shreds," Ryan pointed out, indicating the knees of his pants.

"I don't know what possessed you to bring nothing but slacks on this trip," Erin said, not sounding particularly sympathetic as she gathered up their tools and the bags of clams.

"It's what I had," he answered, shrugging. "Next time, I'll buy some jeans or something."

"How about fourth of July?" she asked, and he blinked, not quite understanding the non-sequitur.

"Huh?"

"Why don't you come back down for fourth of July?" she elaborated, starting back up the beach. "It's not that far off, you should take a couple of days, come back down. We'll barbecue, set off some bottle rockets, light a bonfire. It'll be fun."

"Hm, maybe. I-"

"Bring Javier. Hell, invite Kate and Mr. Castle- you still owe me an introduction, you know. We'll make a party of it, it'll be great."

It did sound pretty nice, even if he'd feel guilty about the bottle rockets, which he was pretty sure were illegal in Connecticut. The idea of a nice barbecue, a fire on the beach, and spending some time with everyone in a situation where they _weren't_ trying to solve a murder was tempting. Maybe he'd even bring Jenny down, let Erin meet her in person.

Except that Erin had very pointedly _not_ mentioned bringing her. Yeah, okay, it was pretty clear that his sister disapproved of the very idea of her, which Ryan didn't get. Erin wasn't usually judgmental, but she'd obviously already made up her mind. Which, honestly, really sucked, because things were getting kinda serious, and it would be an absolute fiasco if Erin decided to make things difficult.

He didn't want to worry about it right then. He'd figure something out, and once Erin actually met Jenny, he was sure she'd like her. Everyone else had, after all, even if Esposito did still grumble about the amount of time he spent with her, and he and Castle joked relentlessly about how often she expected him to check in- but really, he worked long and irregular hours, could he really be blamed for wanting to spend his off-time with his girlfriend? More, he was a cop- Jenny wasn't out of line for being a little nervous. He knew a lot of cops whose wives still insisted they call three times a day at least, just so that they knew they were okay.

Some of the easy exuberance the sand fight had promoted started to fade, and he cast around for something to say so that Erin wouldn't notice his change in mood. She looked happy, and he didn't want her to worry... Maybe he shouldn't have invited himself over in the first place. She did tend to fret, after all, and it wasn't like he couldn't have managed.

"Castle will want to bring his daughter, if he does come along- he's big on family holidays," he pointed out, deciding that following the topic would probably be distraction enough, and Erin beamed, clearly delighted that he was seriously considering her proposal.

"She's completely welcome. The more the merrier."

"I'll suggest it as soon as I get back, then, so that we can figure out time off. I think we could swing it." He managed a smile, and it was apparently believable enough.

"Good," Erin replied, and she began rattling off ideas for dinner, music and decorations as they walked. It kept her busy- and once she was planning something, it was hard to get a word in edgewise, so she didn't notice that he'd gotten quiet.

At least one of them was having fun.


	8. The Problem

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: So this is posting a little later than I would have liked, and it's a little shorter than I'd intended- I apologize. I'm in the midst of launching a business right now, so I have no free time- this is pretty much my only indulgence lately. I promise the plot will actually pick up soon, really it will. I'll try to manage at least two posts a week.

* * *

The problem, Esposito decided on Sunday night as he glared at the small stack of evidence they'd managed to gather, was that no matter what he tried, he was going to be stepping on somebody's toes. Vice was all over El Tirano Rojo. So was organized crime. He was pretty sure that the Feds had at least two active investigations happening as well- one of them undercover- so no matter what approach he tried, he'd be walking all over a whole lot of other people's work. And nothing got a body bitchsmacked to the back of the labs line faster than said body poking their nose into the middle of a federal undercover op.

Unfortunately, the only leads they'd picked up had pointed in the same direction Víctor had- third tier gangsters, at least. Beckett and Castle had dug up some paperwork in the boxes from Sean's room at his parents' house- and how fucked up was that, boxing up everything and shoving it into the basement like it would erase all memory of the kid- that looked like they might be useful, but it was all moot if they weren't going to be able to get in and start asking questions.

"Go home, Esposito." Beckett's no-nonsense tone cut through his frustrated musings, and he glanced up to see Beckett pulling her jacket on.

"Yeah, in a few minutes... I just want to look these papers over again," Esposito replied, and Beckett gave him the sharp frown he'd come to respect the same way he respected a wooden spoon wielded by his mother.

"I said go home, Detective. It's late, we're not making any progress, and the papers will still be there in the morning. You're not useful if you don't sleep, and we can't go forward until the Captain hears back from the Feds anyway."

"Yes ma'am," he grumbled, and her expression softened just slightly.

"I don't like it either," she said, glancing at the picture of the victim posted on the murder board. "It feels like we're letting this one slip. But we've done everything we can right now... And you and I both know that we're stuck until we get an okay from the FBI. No point in beating ourselves against the door while it's still locked."

"I know," he sighed, relenting, standing up and grabbing his coat. "I just hate it when they're kids."

"Believe me, I get it." Esposito caught a flash of something in Beckett's expression, an aching sort of sadness that wasn't quite her usual brand of empathy, but it was gone before he could comment. "But we aren't helping Sean or anyone else right now by staying."

"Yeah." It was, unfortunately, true. No point in arguing, no matter how much it bugged him. He walked with her to the elevator, leaning heavily against the wall as he waited for the doors to open. "How's Castle holding up?" he asked, realizing that he hadn't seen the writer since before he'd paused to eat his dinner at his desk.

"Not so good," Beckett answered as the elevator arrived. "You know how he gets. He left early to make dinner for Alexis and make sure she didn't need any help on her homework- I think he's going to be smothering her with attention until his sense of injustice wears off."

"Can't really blame him," Esposito replied. "Man's got his faults, but whatever else he may be, he's a damn good father. You know he'd bury bodies for that kid if the situation ever came up."

"Not sure that's the best example of good parenting, but yeah. He is." Esposito caught the slight smile Beckett tried to disguise, and he hid a faint smile of his own- it was nice to see that softer edge from her now and again. Particularly in regards to Castle; Esposito privately thought that the writer might well be the best thing that had ever happened to Beckett, and he was hoping it didn't take her too long to figure that out.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out, walking out the front doors before turning to head their separate ways.

"See you in the morning, Esposito," Beckett said, as she scanned for a cab.

"See you," he answered, discreetly lingering just long enough to make sure she'd actually gotten a cab before he headed toward home. It wasn't that he thought Beckett couldn't take care of herself, but a little bit of caution never hurt. Of course, that caution included not letting her catch him at it- she'd kick his ass if she did.

The walk home felt longer than usual, and he grumbled to himself, still not thrilled that Ryan had taken off without a word. Their apartments weren't that far away from each other, so they usually shared the first few minutes of the walk home; it kinda sucked not having anyone to talk to now. Which, incidentally, was another thing that was bugging him- not only had Ryan just taken off on him, but he hadn't bothered to call once since Wednesday. He hadn't even _texted_, and Esposito was taking it maybe a little more personally than he should, but it bugged him. Really, who did that? Just took off for damn near a week without a word?

It just wasn't _right_.

Between that, and the case, Esposito worked himself into a pretty foul mood by the time he'd made it back to his building. The hallways were mostly empty- not surprising, given the hour- though 5B's oversized mosquito-on-a-leash growled from behind the door as he passed. Usually, it'd bug him, but it was about all the greeting he was likely to get tonight.

He let himself into his apartment, hanging his coat up and emptying his pockets onto the small table he'd crammed into the corner next to the door. He briefly considered, not for the first time, whether he could justify getting a pet just to avoid consistently coming home to an empty apartment, but with the hours he worked, it probably wasn't a good idea. Grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge, he flopped down on his couch and flipped on the TV, volume low so as not to bother anyone, scanning the channels quickly until he stumbled onto an old movie he sorta recognized. It was something Ryan had made him watch once, some crappy sci-fi movie with the fakest looking special effects he could imagine. It sucked, but it was familiar, so he left it running while he nursed his beers and tried to clear his mind.

Of course, it had been a lot more fun the first time through, when Ryan had been chattering pretty much the entire time and they'd had popcorn to throw when one of the characters did something particularly stupid. Esposito smiled faintly at the memory, before remembering that he was ticked at Ryan for taking off without a word, and he scowled and changed the channel.

Of course, there was nothing else on, so after hesitating a moment, he made the decision to flip back- it was that or listen to an infomercial for some cleaning product made with REAL ORANGE OIL, and he wasn't sure he could handle the enthusiasm of the blonde woman selling it.

As the TV flickered, and the blatantly fake monsters tore through the painfully unintelligent townspeople, he decided he really needed to make Ryan watch better movies. _Real_ movies, movies with car chases or explosions. He started making a list in his head, and had barely made it through the first three before he'd fallen asleep on the couch.


	9. Circles

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

A/N: So I managed a bit more time today after all, yay! And there's a new Castle episode tonight, too, double yay!

Huge hugs and thanks to everyone who has reviewed- it really makes my day. =D

* * *

Monday morning saw Ryan with dark shadows under his eyes and some serious frustration. He wasn't sure why the hell he suddenly couldn't sleep, but it was really not helpful. Honestly, he'd wanted a few days to sort himself out, not to get wound up even more tightly by phantom dreams he couldn't remember when he woke and anxieties that plagued him the minute sleep fled. He was looking forward to going home, if for no other reason than that work would probably exhaust him enough to let him get some sleep.

And he still had an hour and a half alone in the car to fret once he left. Peachy.

He stared at the dark ceiling, listening to the distant sound of the waves and counting the barely-visible swirls on the ceiling as he waited until a 'decent hour' (Erin had forbidden him from turning on the water before nine) to get up and shower, trying to keep from thinking. Unfortunately, he'd been crap at meditating when he'd attempted to take up Buddhism (the result of a short and ultimately disastrous relationship with a pretty, but completely crazy, college student from Portland), and he was still crap at it now. Clearing his mind didn't exactly come easy.

Chief on his mind was Erin's bizarre response to finding out about Jenny. Well, really, it was Jenny in general. He'd been letting her calls go to voicemail while he was out of town- he'd told her he was going to be unavailable, but she'd been calling anyway- and they were starting to grate on him in a way they really hadn't before. And because of the way Erin had responded, he was starting to rethink how everyone else had responded, as well. Was Beckett's response really as positive as he'd thought, or was she doing that too-polite-to-say-anything thing that women did sometimes? Beckett was generally one to speak her mind, so he'd never have even thought about it without some prompting, but now that he was, it was hard to tell. Certainly she hadn't joined in with Castle and Esposito in teasing him about the relationship, which was kinda odd if she really found nothing off about it- she usually didn't shy away from handing out her own zingers if everything was going fine. Castle... Well, Castle's response was hard to judge, as well, but only because Castle never seemed to take anything seriously. Well, other than his family, who he took very seriously, and Beckett, who he was clearly as serious about as he was flummoxed by. And Esposito...

Well.

Esposito didn't approve. It'd taken Ryan the last two nights of staring up at the ceiling to figure that out, but when he'd gone back and added everything up, the conclusion was inevitable. The little flashes of annoyance that Esposito tried to hide every time Ryan's phone rang, the teasing comments that had a little more bite than they usually did, the griping about how much time Ryan was spending with her, when it really hadn't cut into their 'hang out' time as much as he made it sound... No, Esposito definitely didn't approve any more than Erin did, and Ryan was completely at a loss for _why_.

And then there was the subject of Esposito, in general. The whole reason he was staring at the ceiling in Erin's guest bedroom, wishing he could sleep.

He wasn't sure, really, where the root of the issue was. Sure, he'd been... stung... when Esposito had turned away his offer of help, when he'd drawn the line between them so sharply. That didn't seem to be reason enough for his conflicted emotions, however. Yes, he had been scared, yes, he had been angry, but it was over and done. Esposito had apologized, had essentially promised that it wouldn't happen again; why was Ryan still bent out of shape about it? Why had he felt that he needed to go all the way to Milford just to get enough space to think?

It didn't make sense. He knew it didn't make sense, and he was just hoping nobody else was wondering about it nearly as much as he was. Which was ridiculous, of course- sure, Beckett had asked where he was going when he'd brought his overnight bag home from the station, but she'd accepted his explanation quickly enough, and the Captain hadn't even asked why he wanted the time off. And why would Esposito give it more than a moment's thought, either? It wasn't like they'd had specific plans, or anything, and he'd be home in plenty of time for their usual Monday beers- assuming everyone wasn't staying late on a case- so there was no reason, really, for him to be thinking about it.

Which was a somewhat disingenuous thought, and he recognized it as such even as he thought it- he'd wonder, if Esposito suddenly took time off in the middle of the week. It wasn't unreasonable to assume the same was true in reverse. Even if it was silly for anyone to be wondering. And he was thinking himself in circles, and threat of violence from Erin or not, he was going to go stir crazy if he didn't get up soon, and he needed his shower.

The pipes screamed his rebellion, and he sighed and wished for the fourth time in as many days that Erin would just get the damn things looked at, but he knew she wouldn't. Asking her to change anything about the house that might damage its 'character' was a surefire way to cause her to come down with a remarkable case of temporary loss of hearing. Amazing, that.

He showered quickly, and was dressed and making breakfast when Erin came downstairs, looking surprisingly put-together for it only being seven thirty.

"For a cop, you're pretty crap about following rules," she groused, but she sat down at the table and accepted her coffee without too much fuss.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I just want to get an early start home," he replied, piling a forkful of bacon onto a waiting biscuit and setting it in front of her.

"What? You're not going to stay until dinner?" Erin looked surprised, and he shrugged, feeling a little guilty.

"Nah, I gotta get back. I should check in, see how much work I missed so that I know what to expect tomorrow, and it's Monday- Esposito will throw a fit if I don't show up for beers."

"Hmm," she replied, and he barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Besides, I'll be back down for the Fourth, it's not that far away. You sure you're okay hosting everyone here?"

"Of course I'm sure, Kev, I've got plenty of spare rooms. Just make sure you mention it right away- I don't want any of you having to work."

"I'll mention it, I promise. I'm sure everyone could use the break."

"Good. Oh, and don't leave until I get you your candle holders."

"Holders? I only need one," he replied, frowning slightly. He liked them well enough, but they really wouldn't go in his apartment, and he did not need Esposito catching sight of one- he'd never hear the end of it.

"Nonsense. You're taking home three- the others are for Kate and Mr. Castle's daughter."

Something about Erin's expression made Ryan wary, but he couldn't figure out exactly what. It was, after all, perfectly reasonable of her to offer them, and it was kind of her to think of Alexis... Yet he couldn't shake the thought that she had some ulterior motive for her generosity. When he couldn't think of one, however, he nodded slowly.

"Okay. Thanks, that's sweet of you. I'm sure Beckett will appreciate it, and Alexis will be delighted."

"Alexis? What a pretty name," Erin cooed, and Ryan shrugged.

"Yes? Anyway, I'm going to head out after breakfast... I need to do some shopping when I get home, too. I need new slacks."

"Yes, well, you should've brought better pants."

* * *

Ryan was two hours into the hour-and-a-half drive, staring at the snarled mess of traffic spread out before him in an apparently unending mass, and he was seriously wishing he'd decided to stay for dinner instead. He was thinking himself in circles again, and without something more interesting than talk radio and the sound of car horns to distract him, he was stuck.

Why had Esposito refused his help? He felt ridiculous, coming back to that point again and again, thinking it to death like some angsty teenage girl (and he'd seen his sisters when they were teens- they could _angst_), but he couldn't seem to shake it. He'd narrowed it down to two equally unappealing choices; either A) Esposito didn't trust him enough to let him in, or B) Esposito still thought of him as the younger, inexperienced 'rookie' cop, and felt he needed to protect him.

Ryan really didn't like either option. If it was the first, well... A dull ache formed in his stomach thinking about it. He'd much rather it were the second option, because while that still stung, it didn't leave him feeling like he wanted to go home and down a bottle or two of Connemara. And if it was the second... Well, all he had to do was prove he could handle himself, that he didn't need looking after. He'd just have to take the lead a little more often, remind everyone that he was, in fact, extremely good at his job. Remind Esposito that he was capable of handling himself, and whatever situation happened to come up.

Piece of cake.


	10. The Familiar

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: Much love to everyone who has reviewed- you make me smile. :)

* * *

The Feds were still keeping them waiting.

Beckett was getting downright waspish, and even Captain Montgomery was irritated- he didn't like being jerked around by the G-men any more than the rest of them. For his part, Esposito just wanted to go home and have a drink. They'd hit a wall, and even if the Feds did relent and let them continue the investigation, he wasn't holding out much hope for an arrest, let alone a conviction. And really, much though he liked and respected the beat cops he'd been working with, and much though he liked and respected Beckett, and liked Castle, he was starting to get seriously tired of bouncing between them.

"Fuck it," he said, standing up from his desk, interrupting a sniping match between Castle and Beckett, who both looked surprised to be reminded that he was there, "Call me if anything happens. I'm calling it a day."

"Okay," Beckett agreed, looking as though she were unsure whether she was annoyed by the interruption or glad of the reprieve. "I'll call you if we get anything from the Bureau. Get some rest."

He grunted a reply, and headed out, glad to leave the bickering behind him.

It was unusually early; early enough that he really didn't want to just head back to his empty apartment. Normally, on a Monday, he and Ryan would go out for a couple of beers to get the week started, but he still hadn't heard a peep from his partner, so he wasn't really counting on it. Apparently he wasn't counting on much today.

Roaming the city by himself wasn't all that appealing an idea either, unfortunately. Walking absently in the direction that could lead to home, or to one of his favorite bars, depending, he let his thoughts drift until he passed a video rental store. Reminded suddenly of the list he'd been pondering before he'd fallen asleep, he ducked inside, searching out a few titles before he wondered why he was bothering. It wasn't like he was really gonna have time to watch them all, and he wasn't really one for watching movies alone anyway.

Despite the pessimistic thoughts, he picked up a couple of boxes of microwave popcorn along with the movies; one with extra butter, and one of the funky sweet kettle corn boxes. Personally, he didn't get the appeal- popcorn was a vehicle for butter and salt, and that was all there was to it- but Ryan liked it, and it meant less competition for the real popcorn. Assuming, of course, that Ryan decided to grace him with his presence sometime in the next week.

Yeah, he was definitely feeling bitter today.

His mood was not much improved by the empty silence waiting for him when he got back to his apartment, dropping the popcorn and the movies on the kitchen counter and heading to the fridge to check on his beer supply. Low- too low, really, if he planned on having company. He took a couple of bottles out, setting them on the table in front of the TV and moving the empty bottles from last night back into the kitchen. He was pretty sure that rotating beer bottles was a sad commentary on his life, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it at the moment.

He sprawled out on the couch, switching the TV on, and began the process of flipping through the channels in search of something worth ignoring. He'd made the circuit twice without finding anything, and was starting through the third when there was a muffled, clinking knock at the door. It irritated him just how pleased he was to hear it.

A glance out the door revealed a walking bundle of grocery bags, and he sighed and opened the door. Ryan was balancing two overloaded bags of snackfood and a pair of six-packs of Esposito's favorite beer, and it was clearly too much for him. Esposito took the grocery bags out of his hands, his expression somewhat flat. Ryan didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss, however, simply flashing one of his frustratingly disarming smiles. It looked a little out of place, given the dark circles under his eyes and the very obvious sunburn across his cheeks, nose, and the tips of his ears. Esposito raised an eyebrow and took a step back, providing enough room for Ryan to navigate the narrow doorway.

"Hey, man. I stopped by the station, but Beckett said you'd already gone home for the day. I brought beer. You mind if we stay in tonight? Traffic on the way home was ridiculous, and I've been running around all afternoon."

"You do know that Doritos and Oreos don't actually constitute a meal, right?" Esposito asked in return, a bit waspishly, inspecting what he could see of the contents of the shopping bags.

"Relax, the food is under the snacks," Ryan replied. "Erin wouldn't let me go without loading me down with leftovers. I figured it was only fair to share the wealth. You like her baked chicken risotto, right?"

"She sent risotto?" The promise of homemade food- _good_ homemade food- went a long way towards softening Esposito's disposition, and he carried the bags over to the kitchen counter, Ryan following close on his heels with the boxes of beer. "How is she, anyway? Everything okay?"

"You know Erin... She's fine, got a new project to keep her busy, still refuses to get anything in that house fixed, has a crush on some guy in a band out there- not that she'd say as much, but three days of hokey folksy music in the evenings was pretty telling. Pretty standard." Ryan set the beers down on the counter, and Esposito caught a glance of gauze pads and medical tape, derailing his train of thought instantly.

"Dude, what did you do?" he asked, and Ryan shot him a puzzled look before following his eyes to his hands. Esposito cocked an eyebrow, demanding an answer- finding out exactly why Ryan was injured beat out finding out why he'd left without a word.

"Oh, that? Nothing, just some scrapes. Apparently I am not cut out for clamming." He shifted, dropping the sleeves of his shirt- which were unbuttoned, apparently for exactly that purpose- down over the squares of gauze.

"...Clamming. What, the clams fought back?" Esposito was having trouble coming up with a situation in which digging for clams could possibly lead to injuries.

"What? No, dude, seriously." Ryan huffed a sigh, not seeming too thrilled to be discussing the subject. "Erin insisted we go out to this stretch of beach she likes. The whole coast, and she picks the one rocky beach in fifty miles."

"And?" Esposito waited, arms crossed, for the part of the story that actually explained anything. Ryan glared- well, he tried, it wasn't terribly convincing- and rolled his eyes.

"I fell, okay? The rocks were slippery and the waves kept knocking my knees out from under me and I scraped my hands." The red edges of Ryan's sunburn darkened with a blush, which only worsened when he grabbed a beer and promptly snagged the cap on one of the gauze pads when he tried to pop the lid off.

Esposito laughed, and shook his head, taking the beer away from Ryan and popping the lid for him.

"Bro, you _know_ Castle is going to have a field day when he hears that," he pointed out, fully intending to make sure that the writer _did_ hear about it, as soon as possible.

"Hey, man, not cool! As far as Castle's concerned, I picked these up tackling some drugged-up mugger who was threatening an old lady. ...Or schoolkids. Ah, no, schoolkids _helping_ an old lady." Ryan gave him a grin, and Esposito decided that he'd forgive him (for the evening, anyway) for taking off without saying anything- it was too much trouble to try and stay mad at him when he was being so very... Ryan. And annoyed as he might have been, it wasn't worth another miserable evening wondering what had happened to his social life since the last time he'd bothered to check on it.

"Seriously? Tone it down," Esposito replied, smirking. "Stick with the old lady. You throw too much in there, and he's gonna go digging for details."

"Good point. I wonder if I should call Erin and have her get Patty in on it- you think he'd call the P.D., or the local paper?"

"I think if it goes that far, you should man up and acknowledge how lame you are for being bested by some clams."

Ryan laughed, and took a swig of his beer, shaking his head.

"I would if I weren't afraid he'd publish it," Ryan said, and Esposito couldn't deny that it was a valid fear. He grabbed a bottle of beer for himself, and motioned to the grocery bags.

"So, what do we need to do to eat?" he asked, and he was maybe a little more pleased than he should have been by how brightly Ryan smiled.

* * *

"Dude, how much would I have to pay your sister to get her to live here and cook for me?" Esposito asked, sprawled out on his couch, empty plate on the coffee table in front of him. Ryan laughed, grabbing Esposito's empty plate and taking it to the kitchen and returning with more beers.

"She'd never go for it. Not a force on this Earth is going to get her out of that house."

"Yeah, well, you think she'd complain if I moved in there?" It had been way too long since Esposito had eaten something that resembled actual food, and he was reveling in the delightful after-dinner glow that came with it.

"Honestly, I think she'd be thrilled, so long as you promise never to shower before nine. But seriously, it's not exactly like she's the only person on the eastern seaboard who can cook." Ryan dropped down onto the couch next to him, not hesitating to simply shove Esposito's knees with his own as he settled in. Esposito reluctantly sat up a bit, providing more room.

"Maybe not, bro, but she's the only one I know who does. I haven't had a meal that good in months."

"That's sad, man, it was just leftovers."

"Yeah, but they were _good_ leftovers."

"Tell you what, the next time you get so desperate for good food you're considering attempting to mooch off of my sister, tell me. I'll fix something up." Esposito shot him a look, and sat up even further, disbelief plain on his features.

"You can cook?"

"I grew up in the same house as Erin, you know. I'm not quite as good as she is- I swear, she does something witchy to make her breads turn out like they do- but she's never banished me from her kitchen, so I figure I'm doing okay. Lizzy can cook too- Ma wanted to make sure none of us starved when we moved out." Ryan paused, and fixed him with a dour look. "And I swear, if you tell Castle or Beckett, I will make you hurt."

"How about this- you make sure we eat real food once a week, and I won't say a thing."

"Blackmail? Seriously? You live in Manhattan, bro, you're surrounded by some of the best restaurants in the world. You don't have to live on nothing but pizza and Chinese takeout."

"Right, because my paycheck is totally up for that. I can't even get a table in most of those places." Esposito snorted, bumping Ryan's knee with his own because he couldn't reach his shoulder from where he was sitting. Ryan rolled his eyes, and fixed him with a look.

"One of these days, I should teach you how to name drop. You'd be amazed at the doors that open when you remind people that you work with Detective Nikki Heat."

"...Does Beckett know you do that?" Esposito asked warily, pretty sure that he didn't want to be an accomplice to that sort of scheme if Beckett ever found out.

"You kidding? _She_ tipped _me_ off to the possibility. Apparently, there's a scary number of Castle fans out there, and they're all too happy to go out of their way for his latest characters."

"That's kinda freaky, man. Seriously, I'm not sure I'm down with that."

"Fine, fine, don't take advantage of the gift that has been offered."

"I'm more interested in finding out if you can actually cook," Esposito countered, challenge in his tone. Ryan gave him a disbelieving look.

"Because I'd make that up?" he asked, and Esposito shrugged.

"I've never seen you cook," he pointed out, and Ryan sighed.

"It's not exactly something I advertise." Ryan rolled his bottle of beer between his hands, before settling back against the couch. "But fine. We have time tomorrow, and I'll cook."

Esposito smirked, sure that he won there however the night went. Either Ryan _could_ cook, and he got a decent meal, or Ryan _couldn't_ cook, and, well, that'd just be funny. "So tell me more about how those clams kicked your ass," he jibed. Ryan gave him a sarcastic, "Har har," and whacked him with one of the battered throw pillows that had come with the couch.

Esposito was ridiculously glad he was home.


	11. Blank Walls and Homecooked Meals

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: I owe all of you an apology for how critically late this is. Through a combination of exhaustion (launching a business is a tad bit more involved than I initially surmised) and a general feeling of petulance due to the way the last season of Castle closed, I was just feeling really, really uninspired. That, however, does not excuse an unannounced hiatus, and I am very sorry for keeping you all hanging.

For everyone who reviewed, favorited, or alerted while I was off doing other things, thank you so much for the reminders that people still care about the story. I owe you all big for keeping me motivated to come back to it.

I will continue to work on this story, and hopefully I will have more time, but I can't guarantee when the next update will be.

* * *

When Ryan woke up at a quarter past five in the morning, he was glad he'd insisted on heading back to his own apartment the night before, despite the lateness of the hour and the six pack he'd gone through on his own. He was pretty sure that while Esposito was a pretty heavy sleeper, he wouldn't have slept through Ryan falling off of the couch and onto the coffee table, and based on what he'd done to his bedding, he had not been sleeping peacefully. Grumbling to himself, once more frustrated by dreams he could not for the life of him actually remember, he made his way to the shower.

He was almost disappointed by how quiet the pipes were- maybe his sister had a point about the house having character. There was little enough about his apartment to set it apart from any other in the building- or in the city as a whole, for that matter. The only furniture he owned that was even remotely notable was the red couch, which had been a lucky find. Everything else was generic to the point of being forgettable, and aside from the single framed picture of his family that sat on one side table, the place could have been a hotel room for all of the personality it reflected.

It didn't usually bother him- it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for a cop; long hours and a rough job tended to leave little time for things like interior decorating- but it didn't really feel like a home. Maybe he would get some house plants- they might liven things up a bit, anyway. Or maybe it wouldn't matter in a few months anyway. Jenny had brought up moving in together again not that long ago, and his lease would be up in September. Every time they'd talked about it, they'd discussed either finding a new place or him moving in with her- she'd never said as much, but it was clear she found the spartan nature of his apartment a little disconcerting. Her place was much more, well, _her_, with paintings and photos on the walls and artfully designed floral arrangements on every available surface.

He thought it was a little cluttered, really, but it was better than empty walls.

It didn't take long to get ready for work, and he made the walk down to the small coffee stand that stood about equidistant between his apartment and Esposito's, certain that with a case in the works, his partner would be up early. Maybe not quite as early as he was, but he didn't figure he'd be waiting long. He bought a cup of coffee and killed a few minutes doctoring it to his satisfaction- the bitter, sharp flavor was really not to his liking until it'd been liberally dosed with cream and sugar.

He'd still managed to finish the first cup of coffee and start tinkering with the second before Esposito arrived.

"Hey, man," he greeted, flashing him a quick smile.

"Morning," Esposito grumbled, and Ryan suppressed another smile. He also quickly and ruthlessly suppressed the thought that Esposito was kinda cute before he'd had his first cup of coffee. And amended said suppressed thought to read amusing instead of cute. And quickly turned back to his coffee.

"So... We have a case. What's the plan?" he asked, focusing on thoughts that were a little more reasonable. He took a drink of his coffee, since clearly he wasn't thinking as clearly as he ought to be yet, and regretted it- the coffee was still piping hot.

Esposito scowled at the coffee he'd just ordered, shrugging one shoulder. "Depends on if the Feds have deigned to get back to us."

"...Ah. We're waiting on Feds?"

"Uh huh. All our leads are pointing at El Tirano Rojo. You know how that goes."

"Ah, crap. Yeah. That's no good. Getting any cooperation from Vice?"

"Not so much, and it doesn't matter anyway, not if the Feds don't let us do our jobs."

"Damn it." Ryan hated having to sit around and wait for permission before doing what needed to be done- and he didn't even really know the case, yet. It had to be driving Esposito and Beckett stir crazy, if they'd been waiting long at all.

"Yeah, I-" Esposito cut off as his ringtone interrupted, and he handed Ryan his coffee cup as he fished for his phone. "Esposito." Pause. "Uh huh." Pause. "Yeah, no, we got it. We'll be there in ten." He hung up, pocketed his phone and took his coffee back. "That was Beckett."

"She hear from the Feds?"

"No. We got another body. C'mon."

It only took them five minutes to get to the station and take one of the precinct cars, though it was a little more than ten minutes to get to the crime scene uptown. The scene was on the twenty fifth floor, the signs declaring it to be the offices of Pierce and Rowlins. Beckett, fortunately, didn't seem inclined to comment on their slight tardiness, simply raising an eyebrow when they arrived.

"It's early," Esposito said in reply to her look, giving a faint shrug. Ryan flashed her what he hoped was a winning smile, figuring he could probably get away with it because he'd been gone. Beckett simply raised her eyebrow that much higher, and indicated the body. Esposito took a step forward, as did Ryan. White male, looked to be in his fifties, wearing an expensive suit that had a few more holes in it than it should have. He was tied to a chair, hands bound behind him.

"So who's the vic?" Ryan asked, grimacing a bit as he considered the location of the shots. Looked like it was probably slow.

"Lawrence Rowlins, Senior Partner," Lanie replied, appearing from around a corner. "Fifty four years old, married, two kids. Took four bullets- none of them fatal on their own. He bled to death, and it wasn't quick." She circled around to the back of the chair, and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. "Defensive bruises on both arms- he fought back, didn't make it easy for them to tie him down. Looks like he took a bit out of his attacker, too- he's got blood under his nails. Might be enough for you to use."

Beckett asked a few more questions, and Lanie gave her what information she could, but Ryan was paying more attention to the way Esposito was frowning as he carefully paced the edges of the room than to their discussion.

"What is it?" he asked, moving up beside him, familiar enough with Esposito's behaviors to know that he had something.

"Pierce and Rowlins," Esposito replied, obviously thinking something through. "Matthews did volunteer work here. Principal Brixby said they'd told him to come back as soon as he'd passed the bar, and they'd find a place for him." Ryan frowned- Beckett had given him the bare-bones breakdown of the Matthews case the night before, and it seemed like a bit of a stretch for a law-prodigy kid to turn up dead, and a lawyer he'd worked for to follow less than a week later without it being related.

"Coincidence?" he asked, his tone making it clear that he found the idea unlikely, and Esposito shook his head.

"Doubt it." Esposito drifted over to the desk, shrugging one shoulder. With a sigh, he motioned to the trashed office. "Let's get to it."

* * *

It was late afternoon before they made it back to the station. Ryan was puzzling over the few things they'd found- yesterday's page torn out of an appointment calendar, a photo missing from a frame, several volumes of law books apparently gone from the shelves- and trying to catch up with the details of the Matthews case, since it seemed pretty likely that the two were linked. Walking in a few steps behind Esposito, he came to a sudden halt at almost the same moment as his partner.

The door to Montgomery's office was closed, but Beckett's voice- words muffled but tone distinctly aggravated- was still plainly audible. Sitting beside Beckett's desk, Castle was wincing with every noticeable increase in volume. Despite the drawn shades, they could make out three silhouettes- Ryan shot Castle a questioning glance.

"Someone from the FBI is meeting with Beckett and the Captain," Castle explained. There was another sharp increase in volume from the office, and he added, "I don't think they're feeling cooperative."

"Ah, shit," Esposito growled, shooting a dark look at the closed door. Ryan took a half-step forward, bumping Esposito's arm with his own, the silent gesture of support all but instinctive. He felt the slight shift in posture from Esposito that meant he was calming himself down, and he relaxed a shade himself.

"Maybe she'll talk them around," he suggested, though there wasn't much optimism in his tone. Esposito scoffed, and moved to his desk, setting down the file they'd only just put together.

"You know how they get about their undercover ops," Esposito countered, shaking his head. "If they were gonna let us work the case, they would have just made a call."

Castle looked like he was going to ask a question, but the door to the office opened, and a man in a dark suit stepped out, followed by a flush-faced Beckett and a clearly wearied Captain Montgomery. Montgomery shook the man's hand, and he nodded and headed for the elevator. Beckett stalked to her desk, and Ryan really couldn't blame Castle for shrinking a bit at the glint in her eyes.

"The F.B.I. has relieved us of both the Matthews case and the Rowlins case," she announced, tone clipped. She gathered her coat, folding it over one arm, and Ryan could see that her grip on it was straining the material. "Additionally, Captain Montgomery has strongly suggested that it might be beneficial to take the rest of the afternoon to relax." Her grip tightened, her knuckles going white against the dark brown leather. _So, not so much a suggestion as an order_, Ryan surmised.

"Well," Castle said, standing up with a smooth turn and bringing himself well into swatting range of Beckett, a move Ryan definitely would not have made given her mood, "I happen to be an expert in relaxing afternoons, and I will happily share my wisdom on this matter. Have you ever tried the sushi at Baro's? Or- ooh, I know exactly what will perk you up-"

"You shutting up?" Beckett replied, but contrary to Ryan's expectations, she was already allowing Castle to guide her toward the elevator. The tension hadn't left her shoulders, but the way she leaned into Castle's personal space- not touching, just standing closer than she would usually allow- was interesting. About damn time, really.

Esposito was grumbling a string of curses (at least, Ryan assumed they were curses; he didn't recognize most of them- his Spanish was decent, but some of the more idiomatic things like swearing escaped him) under his breath, and Ryan figured it fell to him to get Esposito back into something resembling a good mood.

"So, we've got time," he commented, and Esposito turned around, looking puzzled.

"Time for what, dude?"

"I told you, we had time this afternoon, I'd make sure you got real food." Ryan gave Esposito his best sunny smile, and motioned to the elevator. "So let's get to it."

"Right," Esposito replied, and Ryan was relieved to note the slight shift in Esposito's posture that said he was relaxing. "I still don't believe you."

"Well, I'll just have to prove it, then, won't I?" Ryan replied, sauntering toward the elevator. "Of course, you're going to have to tell me what you want."

"Whatever you make best," Esposito shot back. "I don't want any complaints that I picked something you didn't know how to make when it turns out you can't."

"Oh, dude, please. I can make _anything_," Ryan replied, laughing. It wasn't precisely true- he could make most things, given a halfway decent recipe to work with, but there was usually some trial, and some error, involved. Still, he figured he was pretty safe, since he had most of the basics down.

"No, seriously, pick something you think will showcase this incredible talent of yours." Esposito crossed his arms, challenge in every inch of his posture.

"...Okay," Ryan replied, a meal already planning itself out in his head as he stepped into the elevator. "You got it. Hope you like lamb."

* * *

One trip back to his apartment, one stop at the nearest greengrocer, and one hell of a cab ride to the best butcher's shop he could find (and yes, it was more work, but it was important to get the best ingredients, okay?), and four hours later, and Ryan was feeling pretty damn smug.

"So, given that that's your third helping of everything, how about a little recognition here?" he asked, leaning back on Esposito's couch with a smirk as he watched his partner pile his plate high yet again.

"Dude, you _win_, you can cook," Esposito responded, barely pausing between bites to speak. "It's _better _than the risotto."

"Yeah, because it's not leftovers," Ryan replied, though he was definitely calling Erin to gloat later. Or maybe he'd have Esposito call Erin, that would be more fun. And Erin never could resist a challenge, which would make the Fourth of July meal wicked interesting.

"No, dude, seriously, this is ridiculously good. What the hell is this?"

"'That' happens to be spinach roulade with a chunky tomato sauce," Ryan replied, identifying the baked roll Esposito was finishing off. "One of my mother's favorites- of course, she didn't put bacon in the tomato sauce, but I think it adds a certain something... Those are portabello mushrooms with a cheese topping, and then there's the meat. The lamb is one of my Dad's guilty pleasures. We had it every year for Father's day- one of my grandmother's old recipes. See, most people just smother it in rosemary, but lamb and rosemary are both earthy, there's no contrast- the lemon and garlic-"

"Dude, don't. I'm cool with you being able to cook, I don't really care how you do it." Esposito paused, and pointed to the pile of perfectly-golden-brown potato fritters. "What about those, what are they?"

"Boxty," Ryan replied, shrugging. "Pretty much potato pancakes. They only take like, ten minutes to make- I could show you how."

"Ha, right. Easier if I just make you cook them for me," Esposito said, and he fixed Ryan with his pseudo-serious face. "Seriously, forget moving in with Erin, I'm just not gonna let you leave."

Ryan laughed, and tried to pretend that Esposito's joking pronouncement didn't suddenly make him feel warm inside. "Dude, you're going to have leftovers from this for a week, you'll be fine."

"Two days, tops, and I am _not _going back to bad takeout."

"I made like, three complete entrees, bro. Enough to feed ten people. No way you can go through all of it in two days." Portion control wasn't something Ryan had picked up- most of the recipes he knew by heart were the ones his mother had taught him, and they were all family-sized. He'd never bothered figuring out how to make them smaller, since he'd never had a problem with leftovers; Esposito really would be set for days. Not that he really objected to cooking for Esposito again- it was definitely doing good things for his ego.

"Yeah, we'll see. And I'm serious about the take-out."

* * *

**A/N**: If anyone is wondering, I totally grabbed the recipe ideas from www dot irishabroad dot com, and while I have not tried them yet, I fully intend to. For anyone else who wants to try them, go to the recipe section, and look for Boxty, Centurian Lamb (or Spring Lamb), Spinach Roulade with Chunky Tomato Sauce, and Cheese Topped Portabello Mushrooms.


	12. The Wrong Questions

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Castle. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made.

**A/N**: I have no idea what's up with my muse lately, so I apologize for how long this took. Also, you guys rock, seriously. Your reviews totally made my week. In addition, I apologize for the Spanish in this chapter- I don't speak the language, I rely on Google. I was kinda iffy on the style of translation I used, but I hope the meanings are clear and the flow of the story isn't too damaged.

The next chapter is started, and is flowing a lot better than this one did, so there should be much less of a wait.

* * *

Esposito woke on a high note, feeling generally good about life in a way he usually didn't first thing in the morning. Particularly after as late a night as the night before had been- he'd managed to force Ryan to sit through two of the movies he'd picked out after dinner, and it had been nearly one in the morning before they'd wrapped up. He smirked a bit, because he was pretty damn sure Ryan had blushed when he'd threatened to handcuff him to keep him from leaving (he'd told him he wasn't going to let him leave, after all), and it amused him both that Ryan's thoughts had apparently immediately jumped for the gutter, and that he was still naive enough to blush over something like that.

He had, in all sincerity, tried to convince him to stay over and crash on the couch, because it was really very late, but Ryan had been entirely insistent on going home. He'd claimed it was because he was afraid Esposito was going to chain him to the stove while he was asleep- which had definitely elicited a laugh. But even if Ryan hadn't elected to stay over, it had been a damn good night, and he had leftover lamb he could heat up for breakfast. He wondered idly if he had any eggs that he could scramble to go with it, and decided that if there was going to be real food around, he should probably actually look into groceries (other than beer) at some point.

An examination of his kitchen turned up no eggs, but he did manage to find some not yet stale bread, and there was a half a jar of mint jelly left after Ryan had cooked, so he put together a quick sandwich, wrapping it up in a paper towel when he realized what time it was and heading out. He was just finishing it when he reached the coffee stall, and Ryan, who had (of course) beaten him there, raised an eyebrow.

"For breakfast? Really?" Ryan asked, and Esposito shrugged, buying his coffee and tossing the empty, slightly greasy paper towel into the trash next to the stand.

"So what?"

"So no wonder you think you'll go through it all in two days, if you plan on eating the leftovers at every meal." Ryan shook his head, smiling wryly, and tried to disguise a yawn.

"Told you, bro," Esposito replied, and he gave a faint smile in return, but his brow wrinkled slightly as he looked Ryan over. Sure, it was early, and they'd had a late night, but Ryan looked... really tired. Like, way more than a single late night should account for. He had serious shadows under his eyes, and the sunburn had started to fade, leaving his pale complexion looking more sallow than usual. His hand was trembling just slightly as he stirred his coffee (second cup, probably, since he was taking his time with it), and he looked rumpled. Barely enough to be noticeable, really, but Esposito knew Ryan well enough to know when he wasn't at his put-together best.

And when he stopped to think about it, Ryan had looked tired yesterday, too. And on Monday evening. Which didn't make much sense, coming off of five days at Erin's in Milford, where there really just wasn't anything to do except rest. He should have been looking healthy-pale, sort of more pink, not grey, and his movements should have been energized, not jittery. He shouldn't look like he was running on coffee and willpower, and he did.

"Yeah, well, I only agreed to feed you once a week, so unless you want to start buying the groceries, I wouldn't rush through it all if I were you," Ryan said, and it took Esposito a second to remember where he was in the conversation, distracted as he was by his sudden concern.

"You been sleeping okay?" he asked, and he definitely didn't imagine the guilty way Ryan jumped.

"Yeah, of course," Ryan answered, but if he'd used that tone during a poker game, Esposito would have raised.

"You sure? You look tired."

"You kept me up until after one watching Die Fast or whatever it was, what do you expect? It's no big deal."

"Uh huh. Right." Esposito didn't buy it. "Looks like more than that, man, you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Really. Come on, we should get going- Beckett won't be happy if we're late and she gets stuck with all the post-Fed takeover paperwork."

Ryan started down the sidewalk, and Esposito followed, frowning. Yeah, something was definitely up, and Ryan clearly didn't want to talk about it. Which, seriously, Ryan talked about everything, so that was kind of unusual, and left Esposito feeling a little off-balance. First vanishing without a word (for days!) and now keeping something to himself that was clearly an issue? He was definitely going to have to do some digging, see if he couldn't get an idea of what was bothering his partner. Because he was not cool with something being wrong with Ryan.

He hadn't really had time to get into a good funk before they got to the station, though he was definitely making progress in that direction, but he was brought up short by the sight that waited for him. Leaning up against the railing of the steps that led to the lobby of the precinct, arms crossed and expression flat and hostile, was Víctor Torres. He uncrossed his arms when Esposito got closer, taking a step in his direction, before he froze, dark eyes going wide. Esposito tensed, instantly alert, until he realized why- Víctor was staring at Ryan, still a few yards ahead, and Esposito remembered too clearly the sharp chill, the instant of impossible recognition he'd gotten when he'd seen Sean's eyes. He saw more than heard Víctor mutter, catching the words- "Madre de Dios, esos ojos"- and he felt a moment of empathy for the kid.

Ryan, on the other hand, clearly had no idea why Víctor was staring, and he frowned, looking quizzical. "Can I help you?" he asked, and Esposito picked up his pace, moving to close the distance. Víctor shifted his attention, giving Esposito a hard look.

"¿Así que usted sabe la sensación, huh?" he said, and Esposito blinked, somewhat taken aback by the statement. Ryan glanced between them, raising an eyebrow.

"You know him?" Ryan asked, and Esposito nodded, frowning at Víctor.

"Ryan, this is Víctor Torres, Sean Matthew's boyfriend. Víctor, this is Detective Kevin Ryan, my partner." Esposito stressed Ryan's title as he made the introduction, not quite sure he approved of Víctor's implication. Even if he had very briefly acknowledged a certain distant parallel himself when they'd last spoken. "What can we do for you, Mr. Torres?"

"...Tengo algo. Acerca de Sean, algo para ayudar." _...I have something. About Sean, something to help._

Esposito exchanged a quick look with Ryan, and he could see his own tension mirrored in his partner. They were off the Matthews case, the Feds had made that very clear... But Esposito couldn't stand to let information that might help slip away. More, he couldn't help but at least feel some sympathy for Víctor- and he was not looking forward to telling him that the case had been swiped by the Feds, who probably wouldn't actually do anything about it until they were ready to move on something they considered 'bigger'.

"What kind of something?" Esposito asked, and Víctor shook his head.

"No aqui. En el interior, a solas." _Not here. Inside, alone._ He motioned at Ryan sharply with his chin, and there was a hint of pain under the mulish expression he was wearing. "Lejos de él." _Away from him._

Esposito gave Ryan a questioning glance, and Ryan shrugged very slightly. Apparently he wasn't going to protest being excluded.

"Fine, we'll talk inside. Walk with us." Esposito motioned to the door, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the kid's attitude. Had he ever been that much of a punk? He didn't think so. Víctor was eyeing Ryan warily, and he couldn't have looked less pleased about heading into the police station- which, given that he was there voluntarily, seemed a little unfair. Particularly since he was the one who'd insisted they talk inside.

Esposito headed inside, and Víctor followed; Esposito noticed that Ryan deliberately lagged behind, leaving space between himself and the twitchy kid. Of course, there was only so much space once they got into the elevator. The doors closed, and Víctor tucked himself into a corner, shoulders slouched. Ryan installed himself near the panel of buttons, and Esposito did his best to fill the whole center of the space, silently discouraging anyone else from getting on. He didn't want Víctor to get spooked and change his mind about talking.

"_I thought you worked with the lady cop_." Víctor was pointedly avoiding looking at Ryan, still refusing to speak in English.

"Detective Beckett's my boss," Esposito replied flatly, scowling just slightly in Ryan's direction. Ryan, who was standing innocently by the panel of buttons, wearing the politely disinterested expression people affected when they didn't understand what was being said- doing his very best 'Don't mind me, I'm just a clueless white guy' pose- when Esposito knew damn well he was catching every word. "Detective Ryan, is, as I said, my partner. We're a team."

"_How come he wasn't with you, then? Before? He wasn't around at the park, or when you asked questions._" The (entirely unnecessary, nosy) question irritated Esposito still further, because he didn't honestly have a satisfactory answer himself, yet.

"What's this got to do with Sean?" he responded, fixing the kid with a look.

Víctor didn't answer immediately, and when he did, it was with another question, asked carefully, his tone level with a hint of curiosity.

"_You trust him?_"

"Of course." Esposito's answer was immediate, absolute. There wasn't anyone he trusted more, when it came right down to it. It was marginally awkward to answer, with Ryan standing right there and all, but it was the truth, and Ryan should already know it.

"_You love him?_" The question was asked in the same tone, as though it were perfectly reasonable, and for a second, Esposito wasn't sure he'd heard Víctor right, because he couldn't possibly have believed that was an acceptable thing to ask. But Ryan's shoulders had gone tight, tension instantly rolling through him, and that probably would have given away his game if Víctor wasn't looking at Esposito intently, waiting for an answer, and that was too much for Esposito's patience. Bad enough that the punk was grilling him, but something like that? That was too much, too far.

"_What the **hell **kind of question is that?_" he snapped, giving in and slipping into Spanish in his temper. "_Christ, **no**, seriously, what the hell?_" Víctor didn't seem to grasp that he'd pushed too far, his expression settling into sullen as he gave a sharp half-shrug.

"_Hey, man, I just thought_-"

"_No, you didn't think,_" Esposito interjected vehemently. "_I think you're too messed up right now to be thinking clearly about anything- you gotta be, because you're seeing things that aren't there._" He took a half-step forward, more angry words at the ready, but Ryan was there, stepping smoothly between Esposito and Víctor, looking entirely too calm and reasonable.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Ryan stopped right in front of Esposito, a hand up as though to push him back, though he didn't actually touch him. "Okay, chill. I didn't hear anything that started 'tu mama es' so let's just take a sec and relax, alright?"

"Kid's out of line," Esposito said sharply, shifting his glare from Víctor to Ryan.

"I think everyone could stand to take a deep breath," Ryan replied blandly, clearly unimpressed with Esposito's reasoning. For a moment, they stayed locked in position, Ryan not so subtly preventing Esposito from moving forward, Esposito refusing to take a step back.

Then the elevator gave a loud ding, and the doors slid open.

"Great! Excellent timing. You go help Beckett with that paperwork, I'll be back up in a minute." Ryan took a step forward, forcing Esposito to back up and reaching for the 'close door' button at the same time, and Esposito ground his teeth but allowed Ryan to shepherd him out of the elevator. He watched as the doors slid shut, hands balling into fists at his side.

One thing was for sure; any trace of the good mood he'd been in earlier? Totally gone.


End file.
